


25 Days of Femslash

by steelplatedhearts



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Now You See Me (2013), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Femslash Yuletide, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:29:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelplatedhearts/pseuds/steelplatedhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>25 different mini-fics for <a href="http://femslashyuletide.tumblr.com/">Femslash Yuletide</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. By The Fire

Jane wakes up on the coldest day of the year so far to find that her heater is out.

Her superintendent is less than helpful, saying only that he’s “working on it,” which in his words could mean anything from “it’ll be fixed in an hour” to “we will never have heat again.”

She’s always gotten cold easily, so years of experience have taught her a routine. She turns the hot water on and lets steam fill the bathroom, then dresses quickly in layers and layers of sweaters, trapping as much heat inside as she can. She takes a blow dryer to the inside of her slippers, filling them up with hot air before slipping them on her feet.

However, all of her tricks are useless today, and she’s shivering on the couch again sooner than she’d like. She’s contemplating a cup of tea when there’s a knock at the door. She scrambles off the couch and opens the door, only to be confronted with the chest of a Norse goddess.

“Sif,” Jane says, stepping back and looking up. “Hi! Um, come in—”

“Good morning, Lady Jane,” Sif says, bowing slightly. “Heimdall informed me that you were having problems with your heater.”

“I am, but you didn’t have to come all the way down here.”

“Nonsense,” Sif says, stepping inside. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“I’m not really sure if you can do anything,” Jane says. “Unless you have experience with Midgardian heaters.”

“I do not,” Sif says, looking around. “But I cannot allow you to remain cold. Where do you keep your firewood?”

“I don’t,” Jane says. “We don’t generally _use_ firewood.”

“Yet you have a fireplace.”

“The flue is stuck,” Jane explains. “It’ll fill the place up with smoke.”

Sif draws her sword and crosses over to the fireplace, kneeling down and sticking the sword up the chimney. There’s a loud metallic shriek, and Sif stands back up, wiping the ash-covered sword on her sleeve and sheathing it.

“There you are,” she says with a smile. “Good as new.”

“Thank you,” Jane says, smiling slightly.

“I’ll go fetch some firewood,” Sif says, taking off her cape. “You stay here—it’s warmer in here than it is out there, heater or no.”

She settles the cape around Jane’s shoulders, bows once more, and leaves.

The cape is warm, fur-lined, and about twice Jane’s size. She trips over it a few times on her way to the kitchen, and it gets caught on the doorknob. She makes two mugs of hot chocolate, sprinkling marshmallows over the top, and stumbles back to the living room, sets the mugs down on the coffee table, and waits for Sif.

She does not have to wait very long before there’s another knock at the door. She jumps up, struggling to untangle herself from Sif’s cape, and throws the door open.

“I found the firewood!” Sif announces, looking very pleased with herself. She heads over to the fireplace and begins stacking up wood.

“Here,” Jane says. “I found some matches—I don’t know if you need them, or if you have some fancy Asgardian lighter or something—”

“The matches will work,” Sif says, taking the matchbox. “Thank you, Lady Jane.”

“You can just call me Jane,” she says.

“Jane, then,” Sif says, smiling up at her, and Jane feels herself start to flush.

Within a few minutes, the fire is up and roaring. “There you are,” Sif says, standing up and dusting her hands off. Without warning, she reaches out and cups Jane’s face with her hand. “Your skin is a cold as a frost giant’s,” she says, concern on her face. “The fire alone will not warm you.”

“I—I’ll be fine,” Jane says, hyperaware of Sif’s hand on her skin.

Sif shakes her head. “It is my duty to keep your frail Midgardian self warm today,” she says imperiously. “I do not intend on leaving before you are comfortable.”

“Who are you calling _frail_?” Jane says, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean no disrespect,” Sif says. “I only mean to compare us—your frame is fragile compared to mine, and my mind is a very dull one next to yours.”

“You’re hardly stupid,” Jane says. “You know all sorts of things about battle tactics that I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you could be the best strategist Asgard has ever seen,” Sif says. “But that won’t happen if you are too cold to study tactics.”

She pushes Jane’s couch right up in front of the fireplace and sits down gracefully, motioning her over. Jane picks up the mugs of hot chocolate and follows.

“It’s kind of a pathetic thank you,” she says, handing the red mug to Sif. “But I owed you something, at least.”

“You owe me nothing,” Sif says. “It is my pleasure to help.” She wraps Jane up in her cape, sits her on the couch, and curls around her. “This is delicious,” she says, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “What’s in it?”

“Those are marshmallows,” Jane says. “They’re basically sugar, but sticky and squishy.”

“They are wonderful,” Sif declares.

“I’ll make you some s’mores next time you come down here,” Jane says. “They’re marshmallows with graham crackers and chocolate.”

They sit in silence for a while, and Jane has to admit, with the cape, the fire, and Sif, it’s actually pretty toasty.

“How is your research going?” Sif asks, putting her mug down and absentmindedly toying with a piece of Jane’s hair.

“We’re hit a roadblock,” Jane says, tipping her head back to give Sif access to her hair. “We’re not having a lot of luck getting funding—personally, I suspect SHIELD interference.”

“Would you like me to have words with them?” Sif asks, starting a small braid.  

“Depends,” Jane says. “When you say ‘words,’ do you mean rational discussion, or threats of violence?”

“Depends,” Sif echoes, smiling slightly. “Which would you prefer?”

“Neither,” Jane says. “I can deal with them on my own.”

“As you wish.”

She starts to run her fingers through Jane’s hair, letting it slip through her hands and fall back to her shoulders. “You’re really making me wish I’d washed my hair this morning,” Jane says, grimacing.

“Your hair is lovely,” Sif says, voice low as she twists it up around Jane’s head. Jane sits silently, content to let Sif style her hair and to be near the fire. It’s crackling merrily, radiating warmth throughout her tiny apartment, and Jane lets her eyes drift closed.

“Are you warm?” Sif murmurs after a while, pinning the braid she’s made in place.

“Mm-hm,” Jane says, yawning.

“Then I must take my leave,” Sif says, rising off the couch before Jane even notices she’s moved. “Keep the cape for now. I would hate for you to be too cold.” She takes Jane’s hand and kisses it before heading towards the door.

“Come back any time!” Jane calls after her. “Don’t wait till a temperature-related emergency next time.”

“I shall,” Sif says, smiling. “Be well, Jane Foster.”

And with that, she’s gone.

Jane stays on the couch, Sif’s cape draped over her, basking in the heat. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock on the door and she jumps up, tripping over the cape in her haste to get to the door. It’s not Sif standing on the other side, as she’d hoped, but Peter, the superintendent.

“Hey, Peter,” she says, drawing the cape closer around her. “Any news on the heater?”

“I’m working on it,” he says. “I really just came up here to talk about your lady friend.”

“Sif?” Jane asks, confused. “What about her?”

“She chopped down the tree in the courtyard,” Peter says, raising an eyebrow.

“Right,” she says, grimacing. “I’ll talk to her.”

She closes the door and heads back to the couch, throwing an extra piece of wood on the fire.

“Hey, Heimdall,” she says, staring up at the ceiling. “Could you tell Sif she can’t chop down trees when she’s here?” She pauses, staring into the fire, then looks back up. “And also tell her she’s invited for dinner on Thursday.”

There is no answer—not that she expected one—but she stretches her legs out on the couch, content in the fact that, come Thursday, Sif will be at her door once again. 


	2. First Snowfall

By the time Gavroche’s school sends out an alert informing everyone that there’s a snow day, he’s already up, dressed, and eating some cereal with too much sugar.

“No school today, Gav,” Eponine says, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “Too much snow outside.”

“Does that mean I can watch cartoons?” Gavroche asks hopefully.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Eponine says. “Today’s my day off, so we can just chill out here.”

She pours herself some cereal and joins Gavroche on the couch, tuning into his cartoons. They’re deep into the adventures of Mike Chilton and the Burners when someone runs at full speed into their front door.

“Goddamnit!” she hears Cosette yelp from outside the apartment. Eponine scrambles off the couch and yanks open the door, only to find her girlfriend laying on the floor, hands over her nose. “Why the hell is your door locked if you’re home?”

Eponine smirks, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms. “Because my neighbors have a habit of getting drunk and letting themselves into the wrong apartment. Why the hell are you running around my apartment building like a lunatic? Don’t you have class?”

“Technically, but class is boring and it’s _snowing_ ,” Cosette says, staring up at Eponine with a grin on her face. “It’s the first proper snow of the year! You’re not just going to sit inside, are you?”

“Snow is pretty gross, Cosette,” Eponine says, helping Cosette up. “It’s cold and wet and awful.”

“Hey, Gav!” Cosette calls out. “Wanna go play in the snow?”

“Yeah!”

“Gav thinks the snow is cool,” Cosette says. “Give it a chance?”

“Fine,” Eponine sighs. “I’ll get my boots.”

She heads to her room, grabbing a sweater, hat, scarf, and gloves, and then tromps back out to find Cosette attempting to force Gavroche into some warm clothing.

“I’m not cold,” he whines.

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna be,” Cosette says, zipping up his puffy winter jacket.

“I look like the Michelin Man,” Gavroche grumbles.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Cosette says. “You’re a very cute Michelin man..”

Eponine grimaces, glancing out the window at the piles of snow. “Are we going, or what?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on.”

Eponine locks the door behind her, and they each take one of Gavroche’s hands as they walk down the stairs and out the front lobby, heading across the street to the park.

“Okay, Gav, I made you a first snowfall scavenger hunt,” Cosette says, rummaging around in her pocket and producing a slip of paper and a small disposable camera. “You’ve got to take a picture of everything on the list.”

Gavroche takes the list, studying it closely. “And what do I win?”

“You win a trip to my dad’s house,” Cosette says, handing over the camera. “Wherein he will regale you with funny stories, delicious baked goods, and his famous hot cocoa.”

“Deal,” Gavroche says, and the instant the girls cross into the park, he darts off, looking for the first item on the list.

“You do really well with him,” Eponine says. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had siblings yourself.”

“I wish,” Cosette says, snorting. “Papa’s practically a monk, so siblings were never going to happen. I have to borrow yours.”

“And now the truth comes out,” Eponine says, stretching up onto her tiptoes to lean her head on Cosette’s shoulder. “You only love me for my kid brother.”

“You had to find out eventually,” Cosette says, shrinking down a little bit to get on Eponine’s level. “Now come on, I want to show you how great snow is.”

She takes Eponine’s hand and pulls her across the open grass, covered in a fresh undisturbed layer of snow. Snowflakes begin to fall from the sky, and Cosette pauses to fling her head back and stick her tongue out. She leads Eponine into a small cluster of trees, pausing right at the edge of a clearing as the sun comes out from behind a cloud, and Eponine’s breath catches in her throat.

The untouched snow sparkles where the sun filters through the trees, and the snowflakes are gently falling down, almost in slow motion. There’s a light dusting of snow on the tree branches, and the whole thing looks straight out of a Christmas card.

She turns to Cosette, who’s smiling broadly, her cheeks pink and snowflakes in her eyelashes. “It’s beautiful.”

“Isn’t it?” Cosette says softly. “There’s nothing like the first snow of the year. Papa used to take me out to the countryside for the first snowfall, and we’d bring a picnic.”

“Weren’t you freezing?” Eponine asks.

“Papa always gave me his jackets,” Cosette says. “Entirely too big, of course, but warm.”

On impulse, Eponine goes up on her tiptoes to kiss Cosette’s cheek. “I love you,” she murmurs, “and all this is beautiful, but that does not change the fact that I am an indoor person.”

“Fair enough,” Cosette says. “I just wanted you to see how pretty everything is.”

“Do you think Gavroche has finished his scavenger hunt yet?” Eponine asks.

“We’ve got enough time to go get some cocoa from that little stand on the corner,” Cosette says. “My treat.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Eponine says, and she winds her arm around Cosette’s waist as they leave the little clearing behind.


	3. Under the Mistletoe

Merritt is the one who brings out the mistletoe, to nobody’s surprise.

“Get away from me, you lunatic,” Danny says, shoving Merritt off the couch. “I’d rather kiss Henley.”

“Thanks a lot, Danny,” Henley says from the corner where she’s decorating the Christmas tree. “Jackass.”

“It’s not like you want to kiss me either,” Danny says, rolling his eyes and grabbing another cookie.

“It’s _Christmas_ ,” Dylan calls out from the kitchen. “Can you maybe be decent people for one day?”

“First off, I’m Jewish,” Jack says as he peels the potatoes. “And second, we’re a bunch of criminals, and therefore have no chance of decency just because it’s technically a holiday.”

There’s a small knock at the door, and Dylan slides the turkey in the oven and moves to answer it. “Alma!” he says, smiling as he answers the door. “Thank god—I need some help keeping these monsters in line.”

“You’re the one that trained them,” Alma says, hugging Dylan. “Therefore, you’re the one that has to deal with them.”

“Am I the only one that resents being compared to wayward pets?” Danny grumbles.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Danny,” Alma says, taking off her scarf. “There’s the patented Atlas charm I’ve missed so much.”

“Dinner’ll be in a couple hours,” Dylan says, taking Alma’s coat.

“Is there anything I can help with?”

“You can help me with the tree,” Henley says, before Dylan can even open his mouth to answer. “Danny and Merritt were supposed to help, but you know how they are.”

Alma looks over at the couch, where Merritt is poking Danny in the face with the sprig of mistletoe. “Indeed I do.”

She follows Henley over to the tree that’s covered in lights, and kneels to start picking ornaments out of the box. “Whose are these?”

“Dylan’s, mostly,” Henley says, hanging a small glass ballerina. “He managed to hang onto some from when he was a kid, and then he went on a shopping spree at the hallmark store. It’s the first time he’s had a proper Christmas in a while, so he wanted to go all out.”

“He certainly doesn’t do anything halfway,” Alma says, picking up a snowman. “So, how have things been here?”

“Normal,” Henley says. “We went to Mrs. Wilder’s house for dinner on the last day of Hanukkah, which was nice, and Dylan and Danny went on vacation last month to rob the Louvre together.”

“I’m aware,” Alma says dryly. “Who do you think had to work overtime on that case?”

“I said I was sorry!” Dylan shouts. Alma just rolls her eyes, turning back to the tree.

“So,” Henley says, hooking a candy cane over a branch. “How have you been? It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been practicing that trick you showed me last time,” Alma says, eyes lighting up. “I don’t drop the cards anymore.”

“What a shame,” Henley says with a grin. “I was thinking we could adjust your aim and take one of Danny’s eyes out.”

“I could try,” Alma says, unwrapping a small porcelain dove.

“Hey, Alma!” Merritt says, jogging over and throwing an arm around her shoulders. “You’re my last hope, help a brother out.”

“With what, exactly?” Alma asks, raising an eyebrow. Merritt wiggles his eyebrows, glancing up, and Alma and Henley follow his gaze to the sprig of mistletoe he’s dangling over their heads.

“Oh, come _on_ , Merritt,” Henley says, glaring. “Leave her alone.”

“Jealous, Red?” he asks, smirking at her, and it takes all of her self-control not to hit him.

“I’ll kiss you, Merritt,” Alma says. “On one condition: you give me the mistletoe after.”

“Because clearly you can’t be trusted with it,” Henley grumbles.

“Deal.”

Merritt puckers up, and Alma reaches out, turns his head, and plants a kiss on his cheek.

“There you are,” she says with a smirk, grabbing the mistletoe out of his hand. “One kiss for the gentleman.”

Merritt snorts, heading into the kitchen. “I don’t know what I expected.”

Alma laughs, and then stretches out her arm. “Oh, look,” she says with mock surprise. “Mistletoe.” She leans forward and kisses Henley gently, her lips soft and warm.

“There,” she says, leaning back with a smile. “That’s a much better use for mistletoe, I think.”

“I agree,” Henley says, smiling slightly.

“Besides,” Alma says, eyes sparkling, “I’d much rather kiss you than Merritt.”

“Oh, thank god,” Henley says in mock relief.

“Will you two quit being sentimental and finish the tree?” Merritt asks from his perch on the couch.

“Finish it yourself,” Henley says, sliding into an armchair and pulling Alma down with her. “I’m going to cuddle with my girlfriend.”

Alma smiles and snuggles in. “Ten dollars says that he gets tangled up in the pearls.”

“You’re on.”


	4. Decorating

When Uhura wakes up in the morning, she heads straight to the kitchen for some coffee, but she only makes it three steps before she trips and falls flat on her face. She twists around to see an oversized nutcracker lying on the floor. As she sits up, flexing her foot and staring into the living room, Gaila comes in from the front door with a large cardboard box.

“Good morning, angel!” she chirps.

“Good morning, Gaila,” Uhura says, getting to her feet. “Why does our apartment look like a hallmark store?”

“We’re decorating today!” Gaila says, crossing to her and kissing her cheek. “Remember?”

“Right,” Uhura says. “I just didn’t think it would be this much decorating.”

“It’s our first Christmas together,” Gaila says. “I wanted to go all out.” She moves to the stereo, turning it on, and Christmas music fills the room. “If you put the tree together, I’ll put up the wall stuff.”

The tree is disassembled in a box, and Uhura turns to start hauling the branches out and snapping them into place, while Gaila starts pinning strings of colored lights on the walls. Gaila sings along to the Christmas music, translating it into Orion, while Uhura wrestles the tree into submission. “There,” she says, panting slightly. “One plastic Christmas tree, ready for trimming.”

Gaila squeaks, clapping her hands together. “It’s beautiful!”

“I try,” Uhura says, bowing with a flourish. “Course, it’ll be prettier with lights.”

Gila bounds over to the tree, digging a strand of lights out of a nearby box. “Here,” she says, unwinding the string. “I’ll put these up. There’s a wreath on the kitchen table—can you go hang it on the door?”

The wreath is a simple thing, greenery dotted with silver ornaments and wound with silver ribbon, a large bow at the top. It’s subtle and understated, two words that have never described Gaila at any point in time.

“Where’d you get the wreath?” Uhura asks, heading back inside.

“They were having a sale at the pier,” Gaila says, wrapping tinsel around the tree. “I wanted the rainbow one, but I decided on silver instead. More Christmassy. Also, you make this _face_ sometimes, when there’s too much color.”

“I do not,” Uhura protests.

“You do, sweetie,” Gaila says. “You’re fine with one main statement color, but other than that, you’re definitely a fan of black and white.”

“That makes me sound so boring,” Uhura says.

Gaila adjusts a Vulcan ornament, considering. “No, I don’t think so,” she says finally. “Everyone’s relationship with color is different. Yours is just more subdued than mine. Besides,” she continues, “Greyscale is a good look for you, especially when you add in just one thing with a splash of color.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Gaila says decisively. “You remember that dress you wore last week? The light grey one, with the dark grey trim? You had this bright orange belt with it, and you looked stunning.”

Uhura flushes slightly. “Thank you.”

She joins Gaila at the tree, helping hang the various ornaments. The tree is small enough, and it’s fully decorated in no time at all. She turns around, surveying the rest of the apartment. It looks almost like a fairy tale house, with snowflakes dangling from the ceiling, greenery draped on the walls, and small clusters of candles dotted here and there.

“It’s beautiful, Gaila,” she murmurs. “Your decorating powers are impressive.”

“Thank you, darling,” Gaila says, wrapping her arms around Uhura’s waist. “Let’s see Jim try and out-decorate me _this_ year.”

“He’ll lose,” Uhura says, winding her fingers through Gaila’s curls.

Gaila nearly purrs, holding Uhura just a little tighter. “Your confidence is inspiring.”

“I’m not great at decorating,” Uhura says. “Inspiring is the least I can do.”

“And you do it so well,” Gaila says. “Now, what do you say we get some hot chocolate and bask in the beautiful décor?”

“That sounds wonderful,” Uhura says, and Gaila’s grin grows. 


	5. Family Dinner

Darcy is not nervous about introducing her Norse-goddess girlfriend to her family. Not at all. Not in the slightest.

Well, maybe a little.

“You told her to bring her family, right?” Mrs. Lewis says, sliding one of the turkeys out of the oven. “I hope we have enough food.”

“We should,” Darcy says, chopping up the carrots. “She’s just bringing her brother.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’m…not actually sure,” Darcy says, grimacing. “I’ve never met him.”

Mrs. Lewis frowns disapprovingly at her, but doesn’t say anything. The doorbell rings, and Darcy drops her knife. “I’ll get it!” she yells, scrambling to get to the door before her brother can get there. She meets him in the hall, hip-checking him into the bathroom and slamming the door before darting to the foyer.

“Hi!” she says, throwing open the door as she tries to catch her breath. Sif is standing there, dressed regally in a flowing golden dress embellished with decorative armor.

“Good evening, Darcy,” she says, bowing her head. “I believe you’ve already met my brother Heimdall?”  
“I didn’t know he was your brother,” Darcy blurts. “Are you even allowed to leave the bridge thingy?”

“I am not the only one able to operate the Bifrost,” Heimdall says.

“Well, rock on. Come in!”

Darcy leads the two Asgardians through the foyer and into the kitchen. “Mom, this is Sif,” she says, taking Sif’s hand. “Sif, this is my mom.”

“Good evening, Lady Lewis,” Sif says, bowing. “It’s an honor to meet you. May I present my brother, Heimdall?”

“You can just call me Dianne,” Mrs. Lewis says, enveloping Sif in a hug. “It’s so good to finally meet you, we’ve heard such great things!” She releases a stunned Sif and then turns to Heimdall, hugging him as well. “We haven’t heard anything about you, but it’s wonderful to meet you as well.”

“Thank you for inviting us into your home, Lady Lewis,” Heimdall says with a solemn smile, hugging her back.

“Call me Dianne,” Mrs. Lewis says. “Harold, Darcy’s girlfriend is here!”

Mr. Lewis comes in from the living room where he’d been dealing with the fireplace. “Good to meet you!” he says jovially, shaking Sif’s hand enthusiastically.

“Dad,” Darcy says, clenching her eyes shut. “What the _hell_ are you wearing?”

“My Christmas sweater, pumpkin!” he says. “Your mom bought it for me last week.”

“Why is it _glowing_?”

“It’s battery operated,” he says, looking down at the blinking lights on his sweater. “Cool, huh?”

“I’m so sorry,” Darcy says, turning to Sif. “I would love to say he’s not normally this embarrassing, but that would be a total lie.”

“Jesse!” Mrs. Lewis yells, making Sif jump slightly. “Come say hello to our guests!”

“Darcy tried to lock me in the bathroom,” Jesse says as he enters the kitchen.

“Did not,” Darcy says. “I just shut the door, I didn’t even _go_ for the lock!”

“Children, children,” Mr. Lewis says. “Let’s play nice, huh? Say hello, Jesse.”

“Hello, Jesse.”

“You are the _worst_ ,” Darcy hisses.

Jesse just shrugs, sticking his tongue out at her.

“Dinner!” Mrs. Lewis calls out.

They gather around the table, Darcy’s parents at opposite ends, Sif next to Darcy, and Heimdall next to Jesse. Mr. Lewis holds out his hands, and the rest of the family takes his cue and joins hands with their neighbors. Sif’s hand is cool in Darcy’s, and she curses her sweaty palms.

“Bless this meal, bless our company, bless this holiday,” Mr. Lewis says. “Thank you for our wonderful guests and for our family. Amen.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Lewis, Darcy, and Jesse echo.

“May the Allfather bless this food,” Sif says, and Heimdall nods.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Mr. Lewis says, opening his eyes and dropping Darcy and Heimdall’s hands. “Let’s eat!”


	6. Holiday Sweater

Sif first hears about Christmas from Lady Jane.

“It’s Christmas season,” she’d said, rolling her eyes at the decorated trees. “It’s over a month away, and they’re already decorating.”

There isn’t a Christmas on Asgard, and while she _could_ ask Jane, something in her doesn’t want to—Jane is the most intelligent person she’s ever met, and while she would never be unkind enough to judge others for what they don’t know, admitting ignorance is difficult.

So she goes to Lady Darcy, who’s much less intimidating, and has offered to teach her about Midgardian customs in the past.

“You want to know about Christmas?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Sif nods.

“Well, first off,” Darcy says, “Jane is Jewish, so she doesn’t do Christmas. Hanukkah is the winter holiday for her. I’m not sure what exactly Hanukkah is, so don’t ask.”

“She is your friend,” Sif says, frowning. “Shouldn’t you know about the holidays she celebrates?”

“She doesn’t talk about it much,” Darcy says. “She celebrates by herself, usually.”

“Is it a traditionally solitary holiday?”

“It’s a holiday spent with family, I think,” Darcy says. “Both her parents are dead.”

“Ah,” Sif says quietly. “Then I will not press the issue.”

*   *   *   *   *

The next time Sif is on Midgard, visiting Jane, she doesn’t go to the bifrost immediately after leaving Jane’s apartment, heading to Darcy’s apartment instead. She hammers on the door, and when Darcy opens it, she blurts out, “Jane invited me to Hanukkah.”

Darcy blinks blearily at her, settling her glasses onto her face. “Congratulations.”

“I don’t know what I should do,” Sif says, standing awkwardly on the doormat. “Are there traditional gifts involved? Are there rituals I should know?”

Darcy steps aside, motioning her in. “Why didn’t you just ask her?”

“I did not want to admit my lack of knowledge,” Sif says stiffly.

“Jane wouldn’t mind,” Darcy says, raising an eyebrow. “She doesn’t know lots of things, and she never feels bad about not knowing them. She just goes and finds answers.”

“Will you help me or not?” Sif snaps.

Darcy pauses, considering. “Fine,” she says finally. “Let’s get you ready for Hanukkah.”

*   *   *   *   *

Sif stands on Jane’s doorway with a bouquet of flowers, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

“Hi,” Jane says as she opens the door. “Come on—” She breaks off, staring. Sif shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

“That’s quite a sweater,” she says finally, the corners of her mouth twitching up.

Sif pulls at the hem of the sweater. “I was under the impression that menorah sweaters were traditional,” she says. “Did I light up the wrong number of candles?”

Jane’s face breaks into a smile, and she stands on her tiptoes and throws her arms around Sif’s neck. “You went to Darcy for Hanukkah help, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Sif mumbles.

Jane pulls back, staying up on her tiptoes and leaving her hands on Sif’s shoulders. “You can always ask me about these things,” she says earnestly. “I don’t mind, I promise.”

“It’s a holiday you traditionally spend with family,” Sif protests. “I didn’t want to bring up painful memories.”

“You’re right about that,” Jane says softly. “It _is_ a family thing. But you’re here, so what does that imply?”

Sif is silent, processing the information.

“I don’t need you to have an encyclopedic knowledge of Hanukkah traditions and customs,” she continues. “I just want you _here_.”

“I apologize for my missteps,” Sif says, bowing her head. “I will come to you directly in the future.”

“No need to apologize. You should keep the sweater, though,” Jane says. “I don’t know where Darcy managed to get a sweater with a giant light-up menorah on it, but that’s the kind of thing that should definitely be saved.”

*   *   *   *   *

“How was the first day of Hanukkah?” Darcy says with a smirk.

“You are lucky Jane liked the sweater,” Sif says. “Otherwise this conversation would not be so cordial.”

“I had to get you to talk to her somehow,” Darcy says with a shrug. “What have we learned here?”

“Talk to Jane about Midgardian customs, and not you,” Sif says, rolling her eyes.

“Atta girl.”


	7. Blizzard

“Okay, pick a card.”

Henley lights the last candle, casting a soft glow around her living room, and sits down opposite Alma. “Are you still working on that?”

“I’ve got it this time, I swear!” Alma says, holding out the deck. “Now pick a card.”

Henley grins, reaching out to take a card. She glances at it, making a show of concealing it from Alma’s view, and slips it back into the deck. Alma starts to cut the deck, shuffling it occasionally, muttering to herself. Finally, she pulls a card out of the deck and presents it to Henley. “Is this your card?”

“Yes it is!” Henley says with a smile.

“Oh thank god,” Alma says. “I was only about 50% sure that trick would work.”

“I had every faith in you,” Henley says.

Alma just snorts.

They sit in silence for a while, watching the storm outside the window. “What do you suppose the boys are doing?” Henley asks eventually.

“Dylan and Danny are arguing over the best way to keep everyone warm,” Alma says. “Merritt is playing devil’s advocate and irritating everyone, and Jack probably lit a curtain on fire.” She grabs a blanket and wraps Henley in it, tucking the redhead in like a burrito. “Thankfully, everyone is snowed in, and we don’t have to worry about dealing with them for a while.”

“Thank god,” Henley says, leaning against Alma. “It would be so stressful, getting snowed in with them.”

“You’re still shivering,” Alma says, concerned.

“I get cold easily,” Henley says.

“I’ll make you some hot chocolate,” Alma says, leaning Henley against the couch and standing.

“How?” Henley calls after her. “The power’s out!”

“People made hot chocolate long before they had power,” Alma calls back. Henley sits and waits for her, craning her neck to try and see into the kitchen.

Alma comes back in a few minutes, bearing mugs of hot chocolate. “The gas is still on,” she says, seeing Henley’s face. “You can light stoves by hand, you know.”

“I don’t cook much,” Henley says, grimacing, as she takes the mug Alma offers. “That’s Jack’s job, mostly.”

“Well, now you have me,” Alma says with a smile. “I’ll make sure you don’t starve or freeze to death.”

“Thank you,” Henley says, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. She leans against Alma’s shoulder, and together, they watch the snow fall down outside. 


	8. Grinch

Nyota is halfway through her third cup of tea and 40% of the way through her xenobiology notes when her phone buzzes.  She jumps slightly in her chair, startled out of her studying reverie, then grabs the phone and reads the text from Gaila.

_CHRISTMAS PARTY PREGAMING. BE HERE._

Attached is a blurry photo of what looks like McCoy in a blonde wig and pink dress, snarling angrily at the camera.

She rolls her eyes, but packs up her things anyway, heading back to the dorms. She lets herself into the room she shares with Gaila only to find a shirtless Kirk sprawled out across the floor, with a pair of antlers attached lopsidedly to his head.

“Nyota!” he says, a stupid grin spreading across his face. “Nyotaaaaaa!”

“We’re not there yet, Kirk,” she says, rolling him over with her foot. “It’s still Uhura.”

“Uhura,” he says happily. “I love you, Uhura.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, stepping over him. “What did you do to Kirk?”

“He’s not actually that drunk,” Gaila calls out from the kitchen. “He’s just being overdramatic.” She steps out from the kitchen as she pulls up her hair into a ponytail. “How do I look?” she asks, spinning around.

Nyota appraises the simple red dress, trimmed with white fur. “Very cute. Are you Mrs. Claus?”

“No, I’m the Grinch!” Gaila says. “I figured, what with being green and all, it  would work out pretty well!”

“I’m sexy Max!” Kirk says. “Bones is Cindy Lou Who.”

“Dogs shouldn’t talk, Jim,” McCoy says from the couch, where he’s clutching a drink and rubbing his temples. “So shut up.”

“Aww, _Bones_ ,” Kirk whines, crawling over to McCoy and leaning against his knee.

“If you start humping my leg I’m leaving.”

“And we put a Cat in the Hat outfit together for you!” Gaila says cheerfully, ignoring the boys.

“Why the Cat in the Hat?”

“There aren’t that many characters in the Grinch,” Gaila shrugs. “We decided to stick with the Seussian theme.”

“Well, if those are the characters we have to work with, I’ve got to say, you shouldn’t be the Grinch,” Nyota says. “You’re way too nice.”

“You’re a dear,” Gaila says, throwing her arms around Nyota’s neck. “As the only sober person here, you should reassign the costumes.”

“Kirk can stick with Max,” Nyota says, leaning into Gaila, “but you and McCoy should switch outfits. I’ll come up with something else for myself.”

“You’d be a really cute cat, though,” Gaila pouts, resting her head on Nyota’s shoulder.

“It’s a Christmas party, not a Seuss party,” Nyota points out. “Get McCoy some green facepaint and I’ll go get changed.”

“I have some foundation that should work,” Gaila says, running off.

“Hope you don’t mind, Leo,” Nyota says, turning back to McCoy.

“Anything where I don’t have to be a child in pigtails is fine by me,” he says, absentmindedly petting Kirk. Nyota decides not to comment on it, and instead steps into the bathroom to change.

She goes for a simple strapless green dress, chosen at the time because it reminded her of Gaila. She wraps a red sash around her waist, tying a bow at the front, and pins a large red bow in her hair. When she emerges, Gaila is fussing over McCoy’s makeup, adding the finishing touches. She herself is in the same pink nightgown and blonde wig McCoy had worn earlier.

“There,” she says, satisfied. “You look like a proper Grinch.”

“Fantastic,” McCoy drawls, grabbing the Santa hat. “Can we go now?”

They head off, stumbling down the sidewalk towards the party, and Kirk drags McCoy forward while Nyota and Gaila hang back.

“So what are you?” Gaila asks, taking her hand and looking her up and down. “A Christmas present?”

“Exactly,” Nyota says, squeezing her hand.

Gaila smirks. “So does that mean I get to unwrap you later?”

“Maybe,” Nyota says, raising an eyebrow. “If you’re good.”

“Well then, Miss Uhura,” Gaila says, her smirk deepening, “I will be on my very best behavior.”

“I don’t mean to break up this touching moment,” McCoy says, appearing in front of them, “but Jim’s stuck in a tree.”

“It’s not a proper Christmas without having to call the fire department at least once,” Gaila says, squinting up into the tree.

“You sure we can’t just leave him up there?” Nyota asks, following her gaze.

“We can’t leave a man behind,” Gaila says solemnly.

“Yeah, Uhura!” Kirk calls. “It’s Christmas!”

“It’s December 10th,” Nyota points out.

“Same difference!”

“How about McCoy stays with Kirk,” Nyota says. “Gaila and I can go on ahead.”

And before anyone can protest, she takes off, dragging Gaila down the street.

“Not very subtle of you, Nyota,” Gaila says.

Nyota shrugs. “It’s Christmas. I don’t have to be subtle.”

“Technically, it’s December 10th,” Gaila reminds her.

“Same difference,” Nyota says, and leans forward for a kiss.

 


End file.
